Your Shield and Your Rampart
by neechan100
Summary: Lightoller seeks to revive the spark in his marriage. Longer summary and probably subject to a title change. Lightoller and O.C.
1. Chapter 1

Forward

First of all, staying faithful to historical background of the Titanic, yet making a unique story following the film's creative spirit, means writing in this fandom is quite challenging. I have tried my best to keep a foothold somewhere within reality, historical integrity, and my own imagination.

Therefore, keep in mind that just as Cameron said the film is not a documentary, this story is not a textbook. I know that Charles Lightoller had an Australian wife named Sylvia and several children at the time the RMS Titanic sank. I decided to change the family profile for personal reasons, among them to focus on Lightoller the film character rather than Lightoller the man. If those historical departures are too weird for you, I understand, but you've been warned, so don't complain about them in the reviews.

At the same time, I want to keep this story somewhat "real" and isn't for readers who prefer a fantasy fanfic. By fantasy I mean situations where time, place, and REALITY are forces upon the charcters, and won't take a back seat to the drama in the plot. (Ie, no middle class newlyweds will be living it up in the parlour suite, nobody will seduce the officers. I've read some unlikely stuff ;-))

Any hoo...I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: This is a fan-based fiction based on the 1997 Cameron film "Titanic." With the exception of content I created, all other content including songs, poetry and references are the property of said rightful owners and are used here only for entertainment.


	2. A Gentleman's Night

"A Gentleman's Night"

25 March 1912  
5:00 p.m.  
Southampton, England

Tradition held that temperance was a good find in a sailor, who was often thirsty. Tradition also held that seamen should make merry the night before shipping out, and the White Star Line officers, as disciplined as they were, took full advantage of the loophole.

The White Stag was a lively scene of tobacco smoke, alcohol, rough male conversation and plucky notes from Lightoller's banjo as he sang the chords of an old favourite:

"I think I'll break off with the wifey, her habits are strange I'll admit..."

Boxhall didn't recognise this forebitter and glanced at Murdoch, who joined in with Lightoller:

"...When I tell her 'My darling, I love you,' she tells me that I'm full of...shhhaving cream."

"Be nice and clean, shhhhave every day and you'll always be clean."

The men burst out in hearty laughter at the toilet humour as a bar maid served their drinks.

"Did you hear that, Joe?" Lightoller chuckled, his light blue eyes sparked mischievously. "A good shave keeps a man clean."

Boxhall himself had a trim moustache, whereas Lightoller and Murdoch were both clean-shaven. "How often should one shave in a day, then, Lights?"

"Well, you have three square meals," reasoned Lightoller, "therefore, it's fair to say a man needs three good shaves. What say you, Will?"

Murdoch gave a thoughtful pause before responding, in perfect seriousness, "Depends on the man. It doesn't matter how often he shaves, provided he doesn't wait too long when the need arises, otherwise in due course he may feel a wee bit...stubbly."

Lightoller and Boxhall grinned. "You're no plaster saint, to be sure, Will," Lightoller appreciated his friend's subtle, dry wit.

None of them were plaster saints. They wouldn't dare drink anything stronger than coffee while aboard or sing bawdy tunes in the company of women, but they liked to enjoy a gentleman's night out all the same.

Boxhall raised his scotch glass; Lightoller followed suit with his gin and tonic, as did Murdoch with his pint.

"Gentlemen," said Boxhall, "a toast to an auspicious beginning aboard our newest Atlantic venture, the RMS Titanic. Cheers."

Lightoller's drink had a minty aftertaste under the bitter flavour, just as he liked it. He had not yet finished a gulp when Murdoch spoke up.

"You know, I heard the queerest rumour yesterday."

"What about?" Boxhall asked.

"Officer re-arrangement," Murdoch replied. Neither Boxhall nor Lightoller were surprised; with the Line building its new luxury ships, officers were shuffled around all the time. "Allegedly, the company wants to bring in someone else to be chief officer and remove someone from the maiden voyage's roster."

"Who?" asked Lightoller, curious.

"If it's true, I don't know who'll be replaced, but apparently they're bringing in Wilde."

Lightoller had worked with Henry Wilde previously. A veteran officer, he was powerfully built, and as meticulous as an Oriental-or a B.O.T. bureaucrat-to the point of being anal. Lightoller respected the man's seamanship, but they had a completely different outlook and method of problem-solving that sometimes disagreed.

"Why Wilde?" Boxhall asked. He drained his scotch.

Murdoch explained, "Wilde's a veteran-they might be considering him for post as a relief captain, or even his own commission. "

"In which case," Lightoller interrupted, "assuming this is all true, it's likely a temporary demotion for the senior officers. Nothing to worry about, old man."

Murdoch appreciated his friend's reassurance but said, "Nevertheless, I want to clarify this with the Line when we reach Belfast."

Lightoller was well aware that Murdoch, like himself, also sought a commission, and that his performance on the Titanic would be one of the final stepping stones to his prospects of a promotion. The competition was stiff. Captains required both caution and nerve, patience and decisiveness in a crisis, good rapport with passengers while maintaining an orderly, professional environment at all times-not to mention a great deal of paper-pushing. There were dozens of officers in the Line; not all of them could expect receive a commission even though most were well-qualified.

But Lightoller felt confident that they would both captain a luxury liner within ten years' time. Murdoch was an exceptional seamen, possessing a cool head, a quick mind, and a reserved charm that passengers and crew admired. The man could do complicated maths figures in his head faster than anyone Lightoller knew, and he passed all of his certificate exams without either the benefit of a cram school or a single failure-quite an impressive feat.

In the corner of the pub a seaman fiddled the tune to an explicit version of the old forebitter, "Five Nights Drunk I." Murdoch, Lightoller, and Boxhall joined in the vulgar lyrics as the chorus and clapping reached both ends of the pub:

_"When I came home last Saturday night,_  
_As drunk as a skunk could be,_  
_I saw a cock in the hole_  
_Where my cock ought to be!"_

_"I said, 'Come here, honey._  
_"Explain this thing to me._  
_How come this cock in the hole_  
_Where my cock ought to be?'"_

_"'Oh, you damn fool, you silly fool,_  
_You're drunk as a skunk could be!_  
_That's nothing but a candle_  
_My mother sent to me.'"_

_"Now in all my years of travel, A million miles or more,_  
_Bollocks on a candle_  
_I never seen before!"_

It was about to get raunchier when Boxhall shouted, "Good Lord, is it half six already?"

"Aye, it is," Murdoch said, checking his own pocketwatch. "I'd better head home, lads, Ada will be expecting me soon for supper." He drank the remains of his pint.

"Chelsea will be expecting me as well," said Lightoller. He put on his bowler hat. "Then shall I see you lot at the ferry tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll see us," assured Murdoch, and with that they tipped their hats and parted ways.


End file.
